


Cinnamon

by gwennolmarie



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: AKA, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Comfort, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Pre-Relationship, What-If, at this point i gaze upon canon with the disdain of Miranda Priestly, downes never happened, fuck dutch, guarma never happened, shhhhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-19 15:58:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17604437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwennolmarie/pseuds/gwennolmarie
Summary: “He’s driving the gang into the ground, and I don’t want to be buried,” John looks at her, finally, “I imagine you ain’t too keen on that fate neither.”Sadie shakes her head and they both look at Arthur, sitting on his cot, and then Abigail, cradling Jack as she sits on a blanket.“You got a plan?”





	Cinnamon

“Here,” Sadie says, gruff and quiet as she pushes a bag into Abigail’s hands.

“What’s this?” Abigail asks, squinting at Sadie and then peering into the paper bag.

Eyes lighting up.

“Mrs. Adler!” Abigail whispers emphatically, joy clear on her face.

Sadie thinks it looks good on the younger woman.

A much nicer expression than the usual dread and worry.

“Heard you talkin’ ‘bout ‘em and was in town,” Sadie says, crossing her arms a bit.

Defensive over… Nothing worth being defensive over.

Nothing to _be_ defensive over.

“You’re a God-sent woman, Mrs. Adler,” Abigail says, tucking the bag into the pocket within the folds of her skirt.

Sadie stumbles back slightly, having to shift one boot behind her to firm her footing as Abigail’s thin arms wrap around her shoulders.

Sadie’s hands, caught awkwardly between her ribs and Abigail’s, clench into fists.

“It really ain’t no thing, Miss Roberts.”

“Hah,” Abigail pulls back slightly to beam at Sadie, “Call me Abigail, please, or even Abby.”

“Sure,” Sadie says, her hands able to slip down enough to settle on the younger woman’s waist.

“Thank you, Sadie, _really_ ,” Abigail tilts her head and smiles so genuinely that it fits like a vice around Sadie’s heart.

A wisp of hope for something good in this hell that she miserably stomps down.

You can’t have anything taken from you if you have nothing _to take_.

“I haven’t had cinnamon candies in…” Abigail looks blown-away, briefly, shaking her head and fluttering a hand off of Sadie’s shoulder just to settle it on the older woman’s elbow.

“Hope you enjoy ‘em,” Sadie murmurs.

Pulls away.

Walks away.

\--

Abigail has the skill of a thief.

The ability to make movements that would normally be loud into impossibly quiet actions.

By the fire, the young woman times it perfectly.

Listening for the hiss of a log.

Patting down her skirt.

Hearing the crackle and pop while her fingers dig in and pinch a tiny, blood-red candy.

Taking a sip of her ale and bringing her hand up under the guise of wiping away any stray liquid.

Popping the candy in and sending a covetous smile to Sadie.

Who huffs her amusement and looks away to the fire.

Only catching the act because she was searching.

Seeking something that she couldn’t quite explain.

\--

She only notices because she’s in on the secret.

She tells herself.

And not because she’s spending too long looking.

Gaze lingering.

Sadie shifts in her newly acquired pants, gently tugging at the stiff seams that bite into her inner thighs, the thick creases across the tops of her knees.

She sips her coffee, gets lost in aimlessly counting the newest scuffs on her boots until two smaller, soft-shoed feet come up next to her.

“Care if I join you?” Abigail asks, voice still thick with sleep.

Gentle creases up the side of her face where fabric-folds had pressed into the flesh overnight.

“I don’t mind,” Sadie says.

Glances in the distance to see Jack sitting in Hosea’s lap as the older man and Dutch play chess.

She can’t hear but she imagines Hosea’s quiet murmuring, telling Jack which pieces to move and why.

It might not stick, but it’s gentle action, regardless.

Out of all the outlaws she’s experienced, this gang, or most of them, are the gentlest.

Though she hasn’t experienced many outlaws, if she’s honest.

Perhaps she’s biased.

“How you doin’, Mrs. Adler?” Abigail asks.

“I’m… Doing better,” Sadie says.

The older woman frowns down at her gun in the holster on her thigh.

Guns at her cabin were different.

Similarly, they were used to protect her and Jake, but…

From bears, big cats…

Not men.

“You feel safe here?” Sadie asks quietly, noting the absence of visible weapons on the younger woman.

“I do,” Abigail says, “This… This is my family, Mrs. Adler, and it might not seem like much…”

“It seems like plenty,” Sadie edges.

Abigail glances sideways at her, lifting and turning her skirt with her free hand as she shifts to face Sadie.

“But?” Abigail asks.

Sadie frowns, pushing her tongue in front of her teeth, pressing out on her upper lip.

“Jack… _You_ and Jack, really,” Sadie shifts, wraps both hands around the warm, tin mug.

“I ain’t...” Abigail lowers her voice to a hushed whisper.

Steps closer.

“We’re better off here, for now,” Abigail says, honesty carrying the words tightly out of her throat.

Sadie presses her lips together and nods.

“Did you… Did you and Jake?” Abigail hesitates to ask bluntly.

Treading carefully.

Sadie falls quiet, glances into the distance at the flickers of the rising sun reflecting in the ripples of water.

Gold and blue-gray.

“We tried, but… It wasn’t in the plans, for us, I suppose,” Sadie admits.

“Oh,” Abigail crosses one arm across her ribs, “I’m real sorry.”

“Nah… Don’t be,” Sadie flicks a calm, dismissive hand between them.

“I love Jack, I do,” Abigail murmurs, “But I do think sometimes, if things would be easier…”

“I’m sure they would be, but there ain’t no point in thinking about ‘ifs’.”

Abigail smiles lopsidedly, soft and just a touch sad.

“You’re a good mother, Miss Roberts. You’re doin’ your best,” Sadie says earnestly and reaches out to lay a gentle hand on the younger woman’s shoulder.

“Thank you,” Abigail says thickly.

“This is a great bunch… Y’all seem real kind, but,” Sadie frowns and smooths a fraying seam with her thumb, “Y’all don’t seem to encourage each other, much.”

“It’s been… Different, lately. We’ve had a hard few...” Abigail murmurs.

“I get it,” Sadie says.

“Thank you, Sadie,” Abigail reiterates and reaches up to lay her hand atop Sadie’s, squeezing softly.

“Sure.”

They finish their coffee.

\--

Sometimes the days seem to pass like molasses.

Sadie pitches in.

Not vegetables, not always, Pearson ain’t a bad man and they’d made their peace.

She moves hay for the horses, feed for the hens.

She helps collect water for washing and drinking.

She cleans guns and dishes, when it’s her turn.

Abigail comes to her one day, as she’s washing her hands in the lake.

Just to get a moment away.

“I’m up to here,” Abigail gestures to her eyes, “With that sorry excuse for a man.”

Sadie rises, shaking her hands then patting off the remaining drops of water on her pants.

“John?” The older woman asks.

“Yes! Jesus, he… He just,” Abigail cuts herself off with a frustrated sound, covering her eyes with one hand.

“He’s… He seems like a good man, but Abigail, I think you’re pullin’ in an empty trap,” Sadie admits softly.

“You’re probably right, but damn that man,” Abigail takes a shaky breath in and crosses her arms, “I don’t want Jack to grow up without a father.”

“Why?”

“ _Why?”_ Abigail repeats, incredulously.

“I’ve seen many a fine man come outta being fatherless,” Sadie insists.

Abigail stares at her, baffled for a moment, then her expression softens.

Saddens.

“I’m a fool, Sadie,” Abigail whispers, fingers clenched around the opposite arm’s elbow.

“I’m sure you ain’t… Not where it matters.”

Abigail huffs a laugh, bitter but hopeful.

\--

“I can’t believe they almost took him,” Abigail whispers, horrified as she sits with Sadie on a felled tree.

They watch Jack playing with Arthur.

The older man indulging Jack in a game of tag that consists of Arthur standing still while Jack runs circles around him, reaching out and occasionally smacking Arthur’s legs.

Not quite getting the concept but laughing loudly when Arthur pats his hair and tags him back.

It’s warming.

Kieran had apologized profusely, nearly falling to his knees and begging.

Abigail had huffed and waved him off with a muttered acceptance of the apology.

All of them had startled by the sound of Jack yelling in the distance, earlier.

Too far from camp for comfort.

Abigail and John had been the first on their feet, followed by Sadie and Arthur.

The rest of the gang had caught up and eventually Jack was back in Abigail’s arms and the wretched men who tried to take him were going cold on the ground.

Abigail had hushed and cooed at her son, taking him to the lake shore and getting him clean of the blood.

Sadie had brought him a change of clothes and Arthur immediately stepped up to distract the boy.

Which left them here.

John standing at a distance, scarred face taut with anger.

Dark eyes soft with regret.

“He’s fine, Abigail. It coulda happened but it didn’t. That’s what matters,” Sadie says, gripping at the hands that have a vice around one of her own.

“I know, but…” Abigail trails off, looking up to meet John’s gaze across the gap.

“I’m so sick… With this, with _all_ this,” Abigail says.

Sadie bites her lip and looks at the younger woman.

“I know,” Sadie murmurs and brings her other hand over to cover the tangle of their hands.

\--

“Dutch, we can’t keep doing this.” Sadie hears Arthur whispering angrily.

“Arthur, everything will be fine, with _time_ ,” Dutch insists, “We’ve no place in this country, anymore!”

She hears Arthur scoff and can picture the frustrated shake of the man’s head.

“Arthur, where has your _faith_ gone?” Dutch hisses.

“I don’t know, Dutch. I don’t know.”

\--

She and John don’t talk much.

So when the young man sits down next to her one morning, sober and somber, Sadie tenses.

After the bank heist went sour, and Hosea and Lenny had…

John had only been in shackles for as long as Abigail and Arthur could stand it.

They broke him out, brought him back only to be met with contempt for saving him.

Dutch hadn’t said it but they all heard it.

He’d rather John had hanged, than all of them.

Something had changed, in Arthur and Charles, that night on the docks.

The older man had recounted briefly, their night of arguing and Dutch spouting ‘plans’ grasping for straws like it could turn back time.

Javier had come back with the rumor that the boat they almost stowed away on went down in the middle of the ocean.

A collective cloud hung over the gang.

Dutch was distracted enough that when Josiah, Strauss and Reverend Swanson up and left, he didn’t notice at first.

Sadie almost felt sorry for the man, Hosea had obviously been his other half.

“You… You and Abigail,” John starts, quiet and unsure.

“What?” Sadie asks.

Pushing down the defensiveness.

Shoving it back into the little box under lock and key in the dusty, unacknowledged corner of her mind.

“Me and Arthur talked a bit. Dutch ain’t… Dutch ain’t the same man that took either of us in,” John shakes his head and gestures angrily at nothing, “And without… Without Hosea?”

Sadie glances at him from behind her loose bangs.

“He’s driving the gang into the ground, and I don’t want to be buried,” John looks at her, finally, “I imagine you ain’t too keen on that fate neither.”

Sadie shakes her head and they both look at Arthur, sitting on his cot, and then Abigail, cradling Jack as she sits on a blanket.

“You got a plan?”

\--

Tilly and Mary-Beth leave together.

They’ll support each other, until they find their own way.

Karen goes hesitantly, uncommonly sober that morning.

Pearson hugs her, jokes about missing her ‘fashion’ and takes his leave.

Sadie has a lot of hope for him.

Uncle goes easily.

Mrs. Grimshaw takes a lot of convincing but Arthur breaks down and begs as earnestly as a man like him can.

Charles talks of going to Wapiti and helping as much as he can there, though he’s hesitant to leave.

Arthur assures them they’ll see each other again, someday.

Molly is beyond reason.

John confronts Javier the edge of camp, and all of them are tense about it.

Arthur hovers with Sadie, several yards away.

If Javier doesn’t agree to come…

They have to leave before he can inform Dutch.

All of their horses are saddled, packs hidden under the abandoned cook’s wagon.

Sadie and Arthur watch.

Javier looks baffled, affronted and then blank.

Sadie sees Arthur’s hand twitching for his pistol.

John reaches a hand out and emphasizes something by squeezing Javier’s shoulder.

The former-revolutionary glances in the direction of Dutch’s tent.

Looks stricken.

John’s other hand comes up and he grips both of Javier’s shoulders, leaning in and speaking with a serious look on his face.

Javier turns back to John and nods.

Resolute.

\--

Arthur and John take it the hardest, with Javier close behind.

Dutch saved them, _raised them_ for some years.

Abigail had been fond of the man for allowing her to stay but it was Hosea who comforted her, the ladies who helped her with the pregnancy.

Hell, Uncle did more for her by bringing her in than Dutch ever really did in action and not passive authority.

They ride out as a group, dead of the night.

Jack in front of Arthur.

Abigail behind Sadie.

“Y’all really think we’ll be safe in _Blackwater_ , of all places?” Abigail asks softly once they’re far enough away from camp.

“They was never really lookin’ for _us_ , Abby,” Arthur says as he glances down to Jack, barely awake between him and the horn of the saddle.

“They’re looking for Dutch, more than anyone,” Javier says softly, pulling up the rear of their horse quartet.

“We hardly have any supplies…” Abigail worries, her hands twisting in the fabric over Sadie’s waist.

“Abigail, we’ll be fine. We ain’t exactly left under the most preparable circumstances,” John grumbles from the front.

“I know that, John! But that don’t stop me from worrying!” Abigail says back.

“Well stop yourself, then,” John grunts and speeds Old Boy up until he’s a few paces ahead and out of earshot.

Sadie feels Abigail deflate behind her and takes one hand off the reins to pat at one of the younger woman’s hands on her waist.

“Miss Roberts?” Javier asks as he rides up next to Sadie and Abigail.

“Yeah?” Abigail asks, and Sadie can hear the thick of tears in the younger woman’s voice.

Javier hesitates to collect his thoughts, glancing forward at John then over to their dozing son.

“Dutch… The man who brought us in?” Javier asks, face twisting with pain and confusion, “The man who spoke of liberation from authority and…And building a haven? In the West, free of civilization?”

Sadie looks at Javier, his shoulders lifted, head cocked down in the same kinda heartbreak she felt not long ago.

The agony of losing _family_.

“That wasn’t the man we just left,” Javier says resolutely  
  
“It really wasn’t,” Arthur says from the other side of Bob, one hand on the reins and the other curled around Jack’s stomach as the boy slumps back against him, “I think _that_ Dutch has been gone for a while… Longer than I’d like to admit.”

Abigail sniffles quietly then leans forward, resting her head on Sadie’s shoulder.

“We’ll be alright, Miss Roberts,” Javier says before falling back into pace behind the two larger horses.

“He’s right, Abby,” Sadie says quietly.

She feels the younger woman nod against her shoulder, retract a hand.

Then hears the crinkle of paper.

A soft, astonished laugh.

The hand comes back to hers and presses a little, shiny red candy into her fingers.

Sadie’s lips pull into a tentative smile.

She pops the candy in her mouth.

Momentarily distracted by the taste of cinnamon.

**Author's Note:**

> hi, look, another fix-it fic for another pairing that's 110% underrated  
> tumblr @gwennolmarie  
> at this point i'm bastardizing so much of canon don't look too closely at my timeline


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